What I've Done
by Aerle
Summary: Title from the song by Linkin Park. Collection of drabbles posted on Tumblr written on request. Pairings, ratings and length varies.
1. Chapter 1

**ZoSan in a Kayak. Prompt by Vergina-spva**

"Dammit, Marimo! How on earth do you manage to get lost of a fucking _river_?!" Sanji rubbed his temples in frustration. Before they got into the kayak, the blond said he would get in front, but Zoro was pouting and said he never got lost, especially not on a river. The cook had given in, because he could use peace and quiet and not a grass-head whining in his ear. But he'd forgotten that the marimo could get lost walking in a fucking straight line. And apparently kayaking on a river.

"We're not lost!" the swordsman snarled back. "I know exactly where we are."

"Where's that then?" When a long silence followed, Sanji burst into laughter. He couldn't help it. "You're such an idiot. I can't believe you don't get lost putting on your shirt in the morning."

Zoro tried to elbow him. "Shut up, shit cook!"

The blond poked him in his side with his foot. Annoyed, the green haired man turned around and dove on top of him.

"Watch out, idiot!'

But it was too late. The kayak keeled over and both men landed in the water, still fighting. Sanji didn't get the chance to take a breath before he got a ducking. He tried to swim upwards, when something hard hit his back and the last oxygen was knocked out of his lungs. He gasped, swallowing water. He felt like the marimo, completely lost, not even knowing what was up or down.

Suddenly, warm chapped lips were pressed against his, and air was blown into his lungs.


	2. Chapter 2

**KillerxPenguin, requested by Acesbabe16 (Tumblr)**

That their best friends were dating – or whatever the hell it was those did – didn't mean they had to like each other. It wasn't uncommon for them to sit next to each other in silence when Kid and Law were still busy or just late. They didn't speak, just waited.

Usually when their friends were 'busy', they would leave the room and do their own thing until the men were finished. And when Law and Kid were just late, it usually didn't take that long, especially Law was very punctual.

Usually.

Today they found themselves waiting in the apartment of the two men. It was quiet. There was no sound of yelling and things breaking when Kid lost his temper. Nor the sound of moaning when the two of them where otherwise occupied. The apartment was completely silent, aside from the clock ticking as seconds passed by.

Killer sat on one end of the couch while Penguin occupied the other. Both had their arms crossed before their chests. They each had a key to this place, given by their best friends respectively. Minutes passed by, and still no sign of either Law or Kid.

Killer glanced to the side. Penguin gazed to the wall opposite of him. Like always, he wore a cap with his name on it, hiding his hair and casting a shadow over his eyes. Killer had always figured he didn't like Penguin, since it was a friend of Law's and he didn't like Law. That was mostly because since Kid had met him, he didn't have that much time for his friends anymore, so it was hard to be happy for him. Besides, Law freaked Killer out. He was a little too interested in blood and gore. The blond didn't have anything against gore in movies, but he did against his own blood near a man with a scalpel.

Penguin toyed with the remote control of the TV. "Do you mind?" he asked.

Killer shrugged and the other man turned on the television. Mindlessly, he flipped through the channels. There was nothing good on, as expected, so Penguin decided to turn it off again, accidentally pressing the wrong button and the DVD currently in the DVD player started playing. Surprised, Killer and Penguin looked at the screen, which was showing the exact couch they were sitting on. Apparently, they were watching a homemade film.

"I'm not sure about this," Kid's voice sounded from the speakers.

"Come on, Mister Eustass, you don't hear me complaining about what you picked out."

The next moment, Kid appeared on the screen, wearing nothing but a black leather thong and cowboy boots.

Killer stared in horror at how his best friend was dressed, everything on display, while Penguin rolled over the floor laughing. He was so going to use this against the redhead.

He didn't laugh for long however, when Law came on, wearing lace panties.

Killer and Penguin stared at the screen. They looked at each other. And then, simultaneously, they dove for the remote. Their action had the contrary effect, however, as neither of them managed to hold the remote and press the stop button. They wrestled to make the film stop, though by now the stars weren't wearing anything anymore. Finally, Killer managed to get the remote and turned the DVD off.

Signing in relief, it slowly got through to him what a compromising position they were in. They were on the floor, Penguin lying on his back with the blond currently straddling the other man. Penguin's cap had fallen off and big brown eyes looked up to Killer.

The door fall shut and both men closed their eyes. No. Not now.

Kid stared at them in disbelief while Law started laughing. "You see? I told you they were into each other!"


	3. Chapter 3

**ShanksxMihawk, requested by MyLadyDay. Royalty!AU**

Kneeling in front of the altar, Mihawk inclined his head as the pope placed the crown upon his head. As he stood up, the royal mantle was placed around his shoulders and the globus cruciger was handed to him. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, before he turned to the people waiting in the throne room.

"Hail king Mihawk!" the herald shouted.

"Hail King Mihawk!" the entire audience echoed, before kneeling before him.

The new king's hawk-like eyes scanned the room. He had always known he would become the ruler of the kingdom one day and now, here he was. Before him knelt his subjects, dukes and earls from all over the kingdom, ready to swear an oath of allegiance to him. One by one, they stepped forward, kneeling before him and kissing the ring on his right hand.

Mihawk's eyes rested on the man currently sitting in front of him. He was the captain of his personal guard and his long time friend, Shanks. The captain had smirked suggestively before going down on one knee and took the king's hand with care, before pressing his lips against the ring – and maybe not entirely on it either. "My king, I hereby pledge to protect you with my life," he said.

Just as he rose, the doors of the throne room flew open and there was a loud yelling of: "Death to the king!"

A canon was aimed at Mihawk's head and he dove down, his crown falling on the floor and rolling away. A loud bang filled the room.

It had become quiet when the king looked up again. The person who had tried to shot him was lying on the floor, a pool of blood surrounding him. Soldiers of his guard stood around the dead man with weapons drawn. It was only then that the king realised that Shanks wasn't with them. The captain hadn't moved from his spot where he knelt down. He was standing, still facing the door and a shadow cast over his eyes. His arms spread out in a protective motion.

Or rather, the one that was still left.


	4. Chapter 4

**ShanksxMarco, requested by anon. College!AU**

Even though it had been years, he would always recognise that red head of hair. The last time he had seen him was in primary school, over six years ago. He doubted the man would recognise him, though, even if he went up to him and said hi. The man, because yes, he was a man now, was talking to some friends, looking cheery as ever. In that perspective he hadn't changed then.

Suddenly, the man looked in his direction and Marco was about to walk on to his class when he called out to him. "Marco? Marco, is that you?"

Taking a deep breath, the blond looked up, opting to pretend he didn't hear the man, but to be honest, he would love to talk to him. "Shanks." He nodded in greeting. "Long time no see."

Shanks grinned at him. It was weird looking at his old friend, now grown up and – dare he think it – very handsome. "S-so how are you doing?" Marco managed to bring out.

"Good." The redhead smirked. "I'm studying accountancy now."

"Really?" Marco grinned. "I had not expected that. You sure you're the same guy?"

"Yeah, laugh all you want, but you won't be laughing so hard when I fix your defaults. Anyway, what do you do?"

"Educational theory."

Shanks nodded, still smiling and an awkward silence fell. Marco scratched the back of his head.

"So, how are your brothers?" the redhead asked, more to fill the silence than anything else.

The blond's head perked up. "Well, Izo goes to art school, but I guess you saw that one coming. Thatch goes to culinary school, Curiel's in the army now…" He went on listing his brothers and they current occupation. Shanks' friends were still standing with them, looking rather uncomfortable.

"Great to hear," the accountant-to-be said.

"Yeah."

When another awkward silence was threatening to take over, Marco hastily said: "We should catch up sometime. I have to get to class now." Waving, he was about to leave when Shanks called after him.

"Oh, no. None of that 'sometime'. That way, the next time I'll see you is at your wedding or something. Come out drinking with us tonight."

Marco turned around. "Alright, but I can't make it too late, I have an exam tomorrow."

Shanks just smirked.

* * *

><p>He had not expected to stay out past the curfew he had set for himself. He had not expected either to sit in Shanks' lap drunk and make out with him. Nor that he would end up in the redhead's bed.<p>

The next morning he woke up with a headache and too late for his exam, but thoroughly satisfied. It had been worth it.

* * *

><p>"Marco?"<p>

The blond looked up when he heard his name. The cute freckled face of his date was looking at him worriedly. "Are you okay? You've been quiet for a while… I just asked when you found out you were gay."

A smile tucked at the corners of his mouth. "Right. That would have been college."


	5. Chapter 5

**IzoxSmoker, requested by Vergina-spva. Hooker!AU**

Fanning himself with a beautifully decorated fan, Izo walked through the hallway. Most doors were closed, which meant that his workers were busy with a client. The brothel he owned was fairly popular in this district, with sailors coming and going – no pun intended – and his workers were the best. Izo was praised for having something for everyone – male, female, old, young (though not too young) – and being discrete about it.

Being a madam meant Izo oversaw his employees, hiring and firing them, but also made sure the rooms were cleaned several times a day and when problems with clients arose, he was there to mediate the situation if necessary. After all, some clients were drunk and or violent, and the prostitutes were forbidden to raise a hand to them. That was where Izo came in.

Being a former prostitute himself, Izo knew all tricks of the trade and prided himself into passing the knowledge to new employees. It made them aware of the dangers and less likely to provoke a client, which meant the number of incidents was low compared to other brothels.

That was, before he hired Smoker. The man had a temper and did not like to be submissive, which were the ingredients for conflict. Why the guy was a hooker was beyond Izo, but he was aware that not everyone chose the trade for fun. Smoker had his reasons and the madam didn't pry, but that didn't mean he didn't sometimes wonder about it. When Smoker asked for a job in the brothel, Izo had jumped to the occasion. The man had a rough exterior, something his clients usually had, and was handsome with a nice body he liked to show off a little too much. He proved to be popular immediately, but tended to clash with some clients, usually male.

Tonight didn't seem to be an exception, when Izo passed the prostitute's room and heard loud yelling. "Get your dirty paws off me," a familiar voice grouched.

The madam sighed and stopped for a moment, waiting and listening if he needed to interfere. It wasn't uncommon for clients that pissed Smoker off to scurry out of the room with their pants around their ankles, even without the sex worker raising a hand at them. After all, not all off them knew they weren't allowed to hurt clients.

Not this time though, as a loud clash could be heard. Izo all but kicked open the door. If Smoker had hit a client, he was fired, being a hot piece of ass or not. However, it was the prostitute he saw lying on the floor, his hand rubbing his jaw. He seemed to be alright other than that.

Izo turned to the client, who was naked and in a state that made the madam glad he wasn't a prostitute anymore. Holding up the fan to obscure the sight, he asked Smoker if he was okay and when he heard an affirmative grunt, Izo focused on the client's face with his steel jaw. "I will not have my workers treated this way," he said sharply. He held his fan out to Smoker. "Hold this."

With that, he turned up the sleeves of his kimono and beat the crap out of the violent costumer.


	6. Chapter 6

**MarcoAce, requested by xpiester333x. Vampire!AU (written for day 5 of the MarcoAce week on Tumblr with the theme 'dancing')**

Marco looked approvingly to his students. They were really making progress and they had to, if they wanted to participate in the dance competition. The song ended and the blond clapped his hands. "Alright, that's enough for today. Well done, everyone."

One by one, his students left the hall, some staying behind to chat with each other or ask their teacher questions. Marco had been an instructor for years now, but it always warmed his heart to see them dance so passionately at the end of the year. He couldn't help but feel proud.

As the last of his students left the dance hall, he eyed the clock. It was midnight already, but he wasn't even that tired yet. Maybe he should do some stretching or something.

His musings were cut short when someone knocked on the door. Turning around, he saw a pale young man standing, freckles covering his face.

"May I help you?" the blond asked.

"Are you a dance instructor?" the man – well, he was barely more than a boy – asked.

"I am, but you are a little too late. Class is over. Although," Marco said frowning, "it would be best to start in a beginner's class. I teach those on Wednesday."

"That's too bad," the freckled man sighed. "I need to learn how to dance fast. You wouldn't happen to give," he licked his lips while looking Marco up and down, "private lessons?"

The blond thought about that for a moment. He wasn't tired yet, so why the hell not? Sure, the other was a little odd and the cape was a bit much, but who was he to judge someone's fashion sense? He scratched at the tuft of blond hair on his head. "Alright. I'm Marco by the way."

"Ace." The stranger flashed him a blinding smile.

"So Ace," the blond said when the freckled man approached him, reminding him a little of a predator sneaking up on his prey. Maybe he was a little tired. "Why the hurry to learn how to dance?"

"I hear it's a great way to seduce my vict– partners," Ace corrected himself. "And I'd be close to their neck– them." He let out a laugh when suddenly lightning lighted up the room.

Marco looked worriedly out of the window. "That's odd. It's not even raining."

"Don't worry about it."

When the blond turned around, Ace was standing in his personal space, showing his pearly white teeth and surprisingly sharp canines. "Let's dance."

Marco shrugged. "Okay."

While he said it, the pale man flinched back, covering his nose with his hand. "Did you eat garlic?"

"Maybe yesterday." The blond breathed onto his hand and smelled. "Is it that bad?"

When Ace nodded, the dance instructor reached for his bag, taking out some gum and wondering how many of his students had been bothered by it. After having popped the piece into his mouth, he took his position again in front of the other man. "Better?"

When Ace nodded, he took his hand, taking the female position so that the other could lead. "Alright, we'll start with the Viennese Waltz. Step aside and then turn clockwise."

Ace did as he was told and Marco wondered why the man thought he would need dance lessons. He was a natural. After a few minutes, the blond put on some music and the freckled man twirled him around effortlessly. When the music stopped, he even ended by dipping Marco.

The blond laughed. "Well done." He turned his head to look at the wall clad with large mirrors to see how odd this would look. He froze in the arms of his dance partner.

Because, looking in the mirror, it seemed like he was floating in the air in a very odd position. He looked up, but the freckled man was there, grinning down at him. Marco's eyes widened.

Ace pulled him up, holding the blond flush against him. "Whoops, busted," he said with a smirk. His canines grew until they were nothing short of fangs and he licked his lips while looking at Marco's exposed neck. "Shall we get to business then?"


	7. Chapter 7

**CobyxHelmeppo, requested by Ventusio. High School!AU**

Coby had hardly opened his locker when it was slammed shut again. He could only pull his fingers back just in time – not in the least because this happened quite often. He tried not to sigh when Helmeppo leaned against the wall, a smirk on his face. "What are you doing?" the blond asked tauntingly.

Coby pushed his glasses higher up his nose. "I was trying to get my books. I've got class in five minutes."

"Books? You're such a nerd!" Helmeppo started to laugh. "You hear that?" he called to some students passing by, who did their best to ignore him. "Foureyes is such a nerd!"

Coby rolled his eyes. He wasn't sure exactly when it had started happening, but lately, Helmeppo was all over his case. Nobody really liked the blond, mostly because he was quite obnoxious and thought he could get away with anything just because his father was the principal. He went around calling people names and bullying them by making them trip or damaging their stuff. Coby was his latest target. It was more annoying than anything really, like now, when he had to get to class.

"Yeah, sure. Can I get my books now?" he asked, the irritation seeping in his voice.

"You're such a nerd for admitting you're a nerd!" Helmeppo was doubled over with laughter.

Coby managed to suppress another eye roll and reached for his locker again. The blond, however, recovered from his laughing fit and slammed his hand on the pink haired boy's locker to prevent him from opening it. "First say please."

"Please let me get to my locker," Coby said with a steel face.

That apparently wasn't what Helmeppo had been hoping for, because the grin fell from his face as he removed his hand. The pink haired boy was actually surprised, but took advantage of the situation by reaching for his locker.

The blond wasn't done being obnoxious, however. "Fine, you can get your books, but are you able without your glasses, foureyes?!" He snatched the glasses from Coby's nose, just as the other boy had grabbed his book.

"Give them back!" Coby could take a lot, but not when his property was being taken. Besides, he needed his glasses to read the board in class later.

"What? Is little foureyes blind without his glasses?" Helmeppo waved them tauntingly in front of his face before holding them out of reach. "Catch them if you can!"

Without thinking, the furious Coby launched himself onto the bully, knocking him on the floor. "Give them back!" he yelled again.

Whether or not it was the shock or something else, the blond stilled, looking up to the pink haired boy with wide eyes before handing him back his glasses.

Coby was caught a little off guard from how easy that went, but placed the glasses on his head. "Thank you," he muttered as he dusted off his clothes.

Helmeppo was still on the floor, looking shocked.

Coby frowned. "Are you okay? Did I hurt you?" he added worriedly.

The blond nodded and then shook his head, still looking quite dazed. The pink haired boy reached out his hand and helped the bully up. "You sure you're okay?" He studied the other's face. Did he imagine it or was Helmeppo blushing?

The bell rung, causing Coby to jump. "I don't want to be late! I… guess I'll see you around?" With that, he hurried off to class, casting a worried look over his shoulder to the stunned blond.


	8. Chapter 8

**ShakkyxHina, requested by viv-heart. ****Hair/Makeup Stylist and Actor/Model!AU**

"Now look pouty. There, that's it!"

The photographer's camera flashed as he took picture after picture of Hina. She moved with the grace of a professional, because that's what she was. The pink haired woman was one of the most popular models at the moment. She had become famous because of a photo shoot done in prison, calling attention to the situation in female prisons. Since then, she was known as 'Black Cage' Hina. She had gotten many offers from different companies, but she was very keen on only taking jobs for businesses who shared her viewings on justice.

"Now smile!"

She did as she was told, but after the flash had gone off, she rose from her seat and the small fell from her face. Stretching herself, she said: "Hina needs a break."

As expected, no one dared to argue with her and the photographer put down his camera. "Alright. Try to be back in ten minutes."

Hina shrugged and made her way to the dressing room. Despite her age, people still wanted to book her for any event or commercial they could. Sighing, she sat down in her dressing room. Sometimes she wondered if this was still what she wanted to do in life. Her aim had been to become a cop, when the modelling career was handed to her. She supposed it would be a good way to call attention to things that were unjust in the world, so she took it. She could always take a police exam after she had quit modelling.

A soft knock on the door woke her from her musings. "Come in," she said tiredly.

The door opened and a black haired woman came in. She had short hair and full lips. Hina wondered why she noticed the latter.

"My name is Shakky," the woman said. "I'm here for your make-up."

"You're not Hina's regular make-up artist," the pink haired woman remarked.

"She went home sick, so they called me. Don't worry, Hina is in good hands."

The model wondered if this Shakky was mocking her for her speech habit or something else was going on. Her voice didn't sound mocking, though, rather warm.

"Do you mind if I smoke?" the other woman asked as she placed a cigarette between her lips and lit it before Hina could answer.

"Actually, Hina doesn't think you're allowed to smoke in here," the pink haired woman said, but she watched the smoke spiral up to the ceiling longingly.

"Do you want one?"

Hina nodded fervently and smiled gratefully when Shakky handed her a cigarette. After such a long day, she could use one. The black haired woman got her lighter out again and lit the stick between Hina's lips. Their eyes locked for a moment and Hina's breath caught for some reason.

She recovered quickly, however, and sighed contently when the smoke hit her lungs.

"Well then," Shakky stood before the model and placed her suitcase of make-up she had been carrying on the table. "Only a little touch up is necessary, I think."

At that moment, a loud wailing sound would be heard as suddenly the sprinklers installed in the ceiling started to spray water, effectively extinguishing the cigarettes of both women.

Despite being drenched, the pink haired woman started to laugh. "Hina told you you couldn't smoke in here."

Shakky smiled and took the model's face between her hands, studying the run out make-up carefully. "Maybe a little more than a touch up," she concluded.


	9. Chapter 9

**LawLu, requested by Anon. Criminal!AU**

His forehead was beaded with sweat as he slowly and carefully screwed tight the final screw. One mistake, one vibration, and they all be dead.

"I'm hungry!"

Law could only just in time pull back his hand from the bomb he was making as his self proclaimed, but useless assistant jumped him. "Dammit, Luffy! You want to kill us all?!"

The younger boy looked at him with his large, owlish eyes. "I'm already dying from hunger!"

"Well, I'm busy!" Annoyed, Law went with his hand through his hair. Honestly, how was he supposed to plan a robbery when he was constantly interrupted.

"You can't eat bombs!"

"No, you can't. But we can use this bomb to blow up the safe, to retrieve art, which we'll sell for money. Money which can buy food," Law reminded him.

Luffy's eyes started to sparkle. "What are we waiting for then?" He made to grab the bomb.

Law hit him on the head. "Not yet! Let me finish it first." He sat down again, placing his glasses on his nose which somehow had ended up on his head and picked up his screwdriver. Luffy watched curiously, but surprisingly quiet, what he was doing. It was annoying to have someone breathing down his neck, but at least it was better than the boy clinging to him like the little monkey he was. Carefully, he placed the device on the table when it was finished and sighed relieved as he took off his glasses and wiped his brow.

"So, which museum are we going to rob?" Luffy asked, picking his nose before studying his treasure.

Law looked at him disgusted, but hissed: "Shhh! Do you want the whole neighbourhood to hear you?" Still, he got up and retrieved the blueprints of the museum out of their case. "This is the plan for the national museum in the centre. We use the bomb to get in from the tunnel systems underneath the streets. Our goal is here," he tapped on the paper with his index finger, "a rare diamond people refer to as the Devil's Fruit." He shuffled the papers around on the desk and retrieved the picture he was looking for, handing it to Luffy. "Some say it's cursed." He couldn't suppress the smirk on his face.

The boy stared at the picture with his head cocked. "What does it taste like?"

"You don't eat it!" Law repressed the urge to slap his hand against his forehead. Honestly, if he did that every time Luffy said something stupid, he might get brain damage.

"So it's a mystery fruit?"

"It's not a fruit! It's a fucking diamond!"

Luffy nodded understandingly. "A mystery diamond."

"Sure. Let's just… go with that." Law sighed. He was feeling tired already, and they didn't even start the robbery yet.


	10. Chapter 10

**ShanksBenn, requested by MyLadyDay. Mythological!AU**

From the hilltop, Benn used his hand to cover his eyes to look in the distance and not stare directly in the setting sun. In his other hand, he loosely held his bow and his arrows were safely secured in the quiver on his back, his hair blowing in the wind. Today had been a good day. The hunt had gone well, though he may had scared a nymph or two, but centaurs did have a reputation even if Benn didn't live up to it. He preferred to mind his own business and, if the need arose, keep to his own species, or rather one centaur in particular.

Said centaur was probably waiting for him to come back with the game, as the sun was starting to set already. He cast one last look to the hills, now adorned in the reddish light of the setting sun, and stroked some of his black long hair behind his ear. He should remember this spot.

Benn turned around and entered the woods again, where his home was. As suspected, in a clearing in the woods, enjoying the last rays of the sun, another centaur was lying, his red coat shining beautifully. Benn watched his lover for a moment, before the other centaur turned his head and his face split into a grin. "There you are. I was starting to miss you."

"Miss me or miss a drinking buddy?" he grunted as he placed the game on the ground.

The grin spread even wider, if possible and Shanks gestured to two mugs of beer. "You know me so well."

If there was anything Shanks liked, it was drinking and Benn didn't doubt the other centaur had started without him. In any case, it didn't take long for him to get drunk.

It was hard to predict how Shanks would behave when he was like that, though he was never violent. Stupid, but not violent. Sometimes he would get clingy and not let go of Benn until he had fallen fast asleep – and even then it was tricky. Other times, he would dance all night or demand to go on an adventure.

Tonight, however, he had thought of something new as he insisted on braiding Benn's hair and placing a crown of flowers on his head. When he was done, he looked at Benn and couldn't stop giggling. "My, Benn, you are such a fabulous creature!"


	11. Chapter 11

**IzoPerona (brotp), requested by viv-heart. Homeless!AU**

Perona strolled the streets, no energy left to lift up her feet or care about her shoes scratching. She was hungry, cold and tired, but the only thing that she had left to keep her warm a little was the plush bear her mom had thrown after her because it was 'creepy'. Perona huffed when she remembered. Her bear was not creepy, it was cute! But what the hell did her mother know?

Perona's parents had kicked her out of the house, claiming they were tired of her creepy friends and weird fashion style. She had thought they were joking, but when she came home, her clothes had all been thrown away and the black and pink colours in her bedroom bad been painted over in a light yellow. Her father had chased her away with a baseball bat.

She bit her lip, pressing the bear close against her. She knew she hadn't been kicked out because of her friends and clothes, it was because she just told her parents she was gay. She had done it in a public place, a restaurant, and, not wanting to make a scene, her parents had forced a smile on their face and congratulated her. As soon as they were alone, hell broke loose.

Tears stung in her eyes, but she refused to cry over her parents. They weren't worth it. That didn't mean, however, that she wasn't miserable. Perona let herself slide down a brick wall in an alley, using a dumpster as a windscreen. It didn't help with the cold, as it had been snowing, but at least it was something.

Suddenly, she heard some noise, coming from the building she was leaning against. Looking around, she noticed a door that was slightly ajar and curiously – along with desperation for warmth – she stole to the door, pushing it open a bit farther. Someone was yelling something, but she couldn't make out what exactly. The hallway she was in was empty and the sounds came from further inside the building. Crawling closer, she arrived in a large hall. It was relatively empty, aside from a small group of people at the end. A girl Perona's age was posing in front of a screen, while someone with a camera called out encouragements.

"Tilt your head back! A little more… That's it. Now less smile. No, don't look mad!"

Perona hid behind a rack of clothing, peeking through them to watch the scene in front of her. She had obviously landed on some sort of fashion shoot. This was amazing! If she loved anything, it were cute clothes. Her hands slid over the fabrics of the clothes on the rack. They felt so soft and nice between her fingers…

"Come on, Izo," the model whined. "We've been at this for hours. Can't we take a break?"

Perona's already large eyes widened. Did she hear that right? Had she stumbled upon a photo shoot with Izo, _the_ Izo, top designer? She loved his clothes, especially his gothic line. Hell, most of her clothes had been from him, before her parents threw them out. She was wearing designs from him right now, although he wouldn't recognise them back. They were smudged and torn, and not washed in a while. She couldn't let him see her like this, she idolised him! If he saw what she had done to his clothes, he would never speak to her again. If he spoke to her in the first place.

Perona knew she needed to leave, even if the table with snacks on them looked rather appetising. Her stomach agreed loudly.

From the photo shoot, Izo looked up from the camera. "What was that?"

Her heart beating fast, Perona scrambled to her feet, only to trip over them after a few meters. With a loud "Oof!" she fell flat to the floor.

Hastened footsteps approached and before she could try to run away again, several people hovered over her, Izo amongst them. She recognised the designer instantly, as he was well known for cross dressing, often wearing a kimono. Izo was wearing one right now, made of a beautiful purple fabric. Perona swallowed and finally looked up. The model and what was probably her agent looked at her with a disgusted look on their face, but Izo seemed lost in thought. The index finger and thump of both his hands using to make a frame, he observed her closely.

"She's perfect!" he finally exclaimed.

"Excuse me?" the model asked insulted.

"I finally know what's wrong with the pictures. It's you! You're not gothic, not even close, obviously not suitable for my new Ghost-Lolita line. You," he pointed at Perona, "however, are perfect." Cocking his head slightly, he added: "But we'll have to tidy you up a bit."

"But what about me?" the model whined.

"You're fired." Izo waved her away bored. "Please leave the clothes in the dressing room for my new model to try on."

Fuming, the model and her agent left. Izo held out his hand to help Perona up. "So what do you say, dear?" he asked. "Do you want to be my Ghost Princess?"


	12. Chapter 12

**IzoSmoker, requested by Vergina-spva. Nobility!AU**

Smoker loved his job, he really did. Nothing was more satisfying than arresting bad guys and upholding the law. It gave him a sense of self-accomplishment when he righted the wrongs done to innocent civilians and placed a crook behind bars. He was a cop to serve and protect.

But sometimes, sometimes he really hated his job. Today was one of those days, when he was nothing more than a glorified bloodhound as he was summoned by nobility. A certain Lordship by the name of Izo had reported a theft from his mansion. And it was detective Smoker's duty to recover the stolen object.

If there was something he hated, it was nobility. They did nothing more than have a seat in the parliament and a stick up their butt, looking down on anyone who didn't have 'Sir' or 'Lord' in front of their name. And how did they earn it? They didn't. It was handed to them on a silver platter when they were born. Sure, some ancestor long ago probably was worthy of the title, but not this generation. No, this generation consisted of mere snobs. Smoker wanted justice for all, he really did, but it shouldn't be more important to retrieve a diamond for a duke than a family heirloom for a poor person. His boss thought differently.

Which was how he found himself in front of a gigantic mansion in which a whole orphanage would fit. Smoker rolled his eyes. The snob probably lived alone, aside maybe for his staff, whom would get a corner each.

However, there was nothing he could do. Seeking justice was his job and his chief had been very clear. Ringing the doorbell, he sighed and waited until the butler opened the door. The butler, who didn't wear a suit as Smoker had expected, nor was as stiff, invited Smoker in.

The deeper he entered the house, the more Smoker started to wonder. The house looked like it was supposed to, sure, if you only focussed on the decorations and the wooden furniture. But then he'd have to ignore the children's toys lying around and the occasional child bumping into him. He didn't remember anyone saying Lord Izo had any children. Smoker didn't even think he was married.

Digging deep in his memory, Smoker thought he remembered some article saying something about Lord Izo being very generous to charity organisations, but he didn't remember it saying anything about him adopting.

The butler stopped in front of a wooden door. "His Lordship expects you."

"Sure," Smoker said, still a bit confused. Opening the door, he found himself in a large office, all walls decorated with books. The chair behind the desk was turned toward the window, so Smoker couldn't see the occupant.

Closing the door, he cleared his throat and said in the hope that someone was actually present: "My name is detective Smoker. You called in a theft?"

Slowly, the chair turned around and Smoker's jaw dropped at the sight. He had expected a man in a suit or other fancy looking clothes, not a… kimono. On top of that, the person's face was decorated with makeup and in their arms, they held a baby.

"Please, keep your voice down," the lord said in a deeper voice than Smoker had expected. "My name is Izo. Thank you for coming. I'm afraid you made your trip for nothing, however."

Staggered, Smoker tried to reclaim his wits. He certainly hadn't expected the lord to look this… gorgeous. "For nothing? What do you mean?" He flipped open his notebook. "Didn't you report a missing diamond?"

"I did. Could you hold him, please?" Izo placed the baby in Smoker's arms and walked over to one of the bookcases. Smoker was too stunned to respond and stared at the child in his arms.

Izo retrieved a small box from behind some of the books. "It's very silly, really," he said apologetic. "One of the children thought it would be funny to hide it." He opened the box, revealing the diamond. "I wanted to call you, but I only discovered it a few minutes a go. I'm very sorry for inconveniencing you."

"That…" Smoker looked around. The room was how he expected a lord's office to look like, but Izo seemed out of place. "That's quite alright," he finished his sentence. He didn't even care his time had been wasted. It had been an interesting experience, after all. "You sure have many kids."

Izo laughed, a pleasant sound, Smoker decided. "I converted the mansion into an orphanage. These children seek good homes, but in the meantime, I take care of them."

Every time Smoker thought he might have figured the lord out, he came with a new surprise. He looked at the baby in his arms and rocked it gently to and fro. "Even this guy?"

"Are you looking to be a father, detective?" Izo asked in a teasing tone.

Smoker scratched the back of his head and mumbled something inaudible. Izo laughed again. "Why don't you follow me for some tea? You can get to know the little one a bit better."

For a moment, all Smoker could do was watch the lord leave. Then, finally managing to snap out of it, he hurried after Izo. This was one nobleman he didn't mind to get to know better.


	13. Chapter 13

**NaVi, requested by Anon. College!AU**

Sighing, Nami tucked her study books further under her arm to prevent them from falling. She probably should have taken a backpack or something, but the park wasn't that far from her dorm, so she had deemed it a waste of effort to grab one. She had been wise enough to bring an umbrella.

She was planning to go study under the largest tree on campus, but the clouds looked threatening. The perfect time to go outside, she had decided. No one else would, which was why the library was cramped with students trying to absorb as much information into their brains as possible for their exams. It had been too noisy in her dorm and she didn't want to go to a coffee shop like some of her fellow students, because she would have to buy something. Money was tight right now, even if she got the reputation of a miser for it.

When she arrived at the tree, however, she saw someone already sitting there, completely lost in their books. She recognised the girl's face, though she couldn't remember her name. They had followed a few classes together, but only when Nami had taken courses outside her major. She remembered the girl always staying close to some blond guy in class, but she had also seen her talking to some older students as well, two rather intimidating looking guys.

The girl was pretty, with long light blue hair tied in a ponytail. It was hard not to remember someone like that. If only Nami could recall her name…

While she was observing her, the girl underneath the tree looked up and took an earbud out of her ear. "Hello," she said a little surprised. "May I help you?"

Now it was Nami's turn to be caught off guard. "Er, I planned to study here. It's a nice and quiet spot."

The girl smiled. "It is. A friend of mine told me about it. But there is no reason why we can't both study here." She moved to pick up her books that were scattered all around. "If you don't mind, of course," she hastily added. "I have to study as well, so I'll be quiet."

"That would be great, thank you." Nami sat down and placed her books and umbrella besides her. "I'm Nami, by the way."

"My name is Vivi." She held out her hand and Nami took it, surprised by how soft the other's hands felt. Realising the handshake took too long, she let go and settled underneath the tree, opening one of her books in her lap. Still, curiosity got the better of her and she peered over to the books of her study mate. They had all to do with politics and international relations. "Can I ask, what do you study?" she asked.

Vivi looked up. "I'm studying politics. What about you?"

"Meteorology. Say, we have followed some courses together, haven't we?" Nami replied, trying to be subtle. All the eagerness to study had disappeared and she much rather had a conversation with Vivi.

"Have we?" Vivi cocked her head. "I didn't take any courses in meteorology… Oh, I know! I had a few literature and journalism classes."

"That's's right!" Nami said like she hadn't remembered that right away. "Didn't you take those with your boyfriend?" She wondered if she should feel bad about fishing for information like this. Vivi had caught her eye right away in their first class together, but something had always gotten in between when she tried to talk to her. Now that she had Vivi all to herself, she wouldn't waste the opportunity.

"You mean Kohza?" Vivi laughed, a sound that made butterflies flutter around in Nami's stomach. "He's not my boyfriend. We have been friends since childhood."

"Oh, I see." She tried not to sound too relieved. "Well, we'd better focus on studying then," she said reluctantly when a silence fell.

Vivi smiled and nodded while she picked up her books again. Nami had a hard time concentrating, glancing at Vivi every once in a while. The girl looked so focused, her brow slightly furrowed as she made notes in a notebook.

Suddenly, the sound of raindrops on the leaves above them sounded. Vivi looked up and held out her hand. "Oh, it's raining. We'd better go inside. It's too bad, I like this spot."

"Hold on a sec." Nami picked up her umbrella and folding it out, she moved closer to the other girl, so they were both underneath the umbrella. Their sides were touching. "There, now we can stay."

Vivi smiled at her. "How ingenious." She giggled and piled up her books so they wouldn't get wet either. "Are you hungry?" she suddenly asked. "I haven't had lunch yet and I brought some extra."

Gratefully, Nami took a sandwich from Vivi and they looked at each other for a while, before Vivi blushed and hastily focused on the raindrops falling. Nami couldn't help but smile when she took a bite from her sandwich.

This was definitely the best spot to study.


	14. Chapter 14

**SaboLaw, requested by Anjelle. Marine!AU **

**(This story is based on the Dutch East India Company (VOC (Vereenigde Oostindische Compagnie)) which sailed from the Netherlands to the East indies in the 17th century for trade)**

With his bag containing his few belongings draped over his shoulder, Sabo watched the ship in front of him in awe. He had never been in the harbour before today, though he had always wanted to. Of course, he had heard of the ships and the VOC, the company that sailed to the East Indies, coming back with new and interesting things. They had introduced many new spices Sabo had never tasted before, but had heard were delicious. No way he could ever afford something like that.

The ship in front of him was certainly impressive. He just hoped he wouldn't get seasick on his first travel.

An impatient guard pocked him in the back, forcing him to walk. They approached a fancy dressed man, which would be the captain. "We've got another one for you," one of the guards said.

Because the many voyages the VOC made, they always had a shortage for sailors, also because many didn't make it back. The sea was a dangerous place, Sabo was told, many sailors died from scurvy, falling overboard, infections, etcetera. Not very appealing, but Sabo didn't have a choice in it. Well, he did, it was this or rotting in jail. Who didn't want to go to prison, could choose the ocean. And like many other criminals, Sabo preferred the chance of freedom by sailing a ship of the VOC.

His shackles were removed and he was forced to work. He reminded himself that being treated like a slave was probably better than die in a prison cell.

* * *

><p>Over the course of weeks, Sabo learned to walk straight on the rolling deck, to keep down the ship's biscuit after tapping out all maggots and not drink any water. Beer and wine were safer. He also got to know his fellow crewmates in the course of time. Many were like him, criminals who rather took their chance at sea than to die in a prison cell. Others had been drunkenly picked up off the street or even the toilet and after sleeping it off, they woke up aboard the ship. Some had signed on as sailors voluntarily, though one could wonder if they would have if they had enough food to live. Many parents sent the eldest son to the VOC because they didn't have the money to feed them anymore.<p>

The captain ruled with an iron fist, but he was fair in his judgements. Then there was the fat minister, who led the service on Sundays. However, he was drunk more often than not, making Sabo wondering if he even remembered whom he was talking about.

But the most interesting person aboard, in Sabo's opinion, was the surgeon. He had heard awful stories about surgeons, how they often made wounds worse, chopping off limps with the only thing to suppress the pain a bottle of rum and a bundle of leather to prevent your teeth from damaging. Many of the sailors aboard the ship missed a limp or two. And that was when you're lucky. More often than not, any kind of wound or disease could kill a sailor.

Their surgeon was different. For one, he still had all his teeth, something that was a miracle aboard a ship. Most sailors missed a tooth or two, even the captain. How he did it Sabo wasn't sure, but his mortality rate was very low. On top of that, he was never drunk when performing an amputation – because no matter how good of a doctor he was, the resources aboard were limited and sometimes he had to cut – or ever when he worked, really.

Sabo didn't have had much interaction with him, because the surgeon kept to himself, only coming out for mass and dinner. The sailors didn't quite trust him, calling him a witch behind his back. They didn't dare to accuse him in the face, though Sabo hoped for the surgeon's sake that the times wouldn't become more rough, or the superstitious sailors might offer him to the sea. However they felt about him though, they didn't stop going to him for cures, albeit reluctantly.

Being healthy and careful, Sabo had managed to avoid a visit to the surgeon, but his streak couldn't continue when the voyage took almost a year, so after a few months, a little before they would reach the Cape, Sabo found himself in front of the surgeon's hut with a small cut. Hesitantly, he knocked.

"Yeah?" it sounded from the inside, which Sabo took as an invitation. He opened the door and stepped inside. The hut was larger than he had expected. From the walls hung shelves, filled with books and jars with unidentifiable things in there. On the table lay all sorts of medical instruments. Sabo didn't want to think about their uses.

It was dark in the hut, the only light falling inside through a small window and by the candle on the table. Sabo was just starting to wonder if had imagined the voice, when he saw a movement from the corner of his eye. On the bed against the back wall, the surgeon was lying. He sat up, stretching, and rose to walk to Sabo. "So, what ails you? Scurvy?"

"You sound hopeful," Sabo observed with a raised eyebrow.

The surgeon waved his hand. "Scurvy is easy enough to cure. Then what is it?"

Sabo lifted up his shirt and showed the cut on his abdomen. The surgeon leaned in and studied the wound. After a while, Sabo started to get nervous. The cut wasn't that bad, right? But the surgeon was staring at it like he had never seen anything like it before. He almost flinched when the surgeon suddenly touched the sensitive skin around the wound.

"What happened?"

Sabo shrugged. "Someone tried to slash me open." It had been a drunken sailor, he probably hadn't meant to kill him.

The surgeon hummed and started to rummage through the jars on the shelves. "Take off your shirt."

Sabo did as he was told. In the meantime, he studied the surgeon. The rumours about his teeth were true, he seemed to have them all. Other than that, he didn't really look like a sailor. He was tanned, true, but didn't look like he had to often lift heavy things. But unlike the minister, he wasn't fat either. He was rather lean. His hair was cut short and he had a carefully maintained goatee, causing Sabo to suspect that the man was actually a barber-surgeon, which was a common job on land. Sabo himself had quite the beard already.

The surgeon turned around again, holding some herbs. "Here, chew these."

"Why?" Sabo asked suspiciously.

The surgeon rolled his eyes. "They'll numb the pain a bit when I stitch you up. Go lie down."

Sabo did as he was told and chewing the herbs, he was starting to feel drowsy. He hardly noticed when the surgeon poured some clear liquid on his wound, only that it stung a bit. In fascination, he watched how the surgeon stuck a needle in his skin and quickly and skilfully started to make stitches.

He must have fallen asleep, because when he opened his eyes again, he was still lying on the bed, but his wound was wrapped in gaze. Touching his chest carefully, he winced in pain.

"Try to move as little as you can or you'll tear the stitches," the surgeon said. He was sitting at the table, grinding up something in a mortar. He turned around and grinned. "I've taken the liberty to save your beard while you were out. You look much better. So I wouldn't mind seeing you back soon."


	15. Chapter 15

**ZoSan, requested by corazson. Self sacrifice!AU**

The carriage ride was silent as Sanji was alone in the coach. Zoro, his best friend, was supposed to come with him to meet Sanji's new fiancée, but he had angrily refused. Sanji didn't think he had ever seen him so mad before.

"It's not my fault, you know," Sanji had said softly. "It was fun while it lasted, but we both knew that one day we both had to get married and continue our bloodline. I'm sure your parents have someone in mind as well."

"I'll refuse her. I'll refuse her like I have done all the others. You could have fought for this!" Zoro had snapped.

Sanji sighed and stared out of the window. It were the last words Zoro had spoken to him, and they had hurt. He had been right, of course, Sanji could have tried to fight his parents again about the marriage arrangement, but it even if he could convince them this duchess wasn't a suitable match, the next lady would already be lined up. He had a responsibility towards his parents, to get married and have an heir. He couldn't have that with Zoro, as much as he would like that.

He and Zoro had known each other since they were kids. They had played together, though that usually ended in a fight. When they got older, the fighting continued, but developed into something else. Sanji couldn't remember how it started exactly, maybe an astray hand, an accidental kiss, but he knew that no woman could make him feel the same way as Zoro could. And he didn't want any woman to try.

The carriage came to a sudden halt and Sanji could hear the horses neighing. Frowning, he poked his head out of the window. "What the hell is going on?"

On the road, a woman with red hair was lying, seemingly fainted. Sanji's eyes widened and hastily, he climbed out of the carriage to come to her aid. The coachman had climbed down the coach-box and leaned over her.

"She was just lying here?" Sanji asked him and the coachman nodded.

"Dangerous place for a lady to be alone."

"Oh, I can handle myself," a lovely voice suddenly sounded and sitting up, the woman pulled two pistols from under her dress, aiming them at the two men. "Gentlemen, this is a robbery."

* * *

><p>The carriage ride was way too loud with his wife and her friends chatting about. Zoro tried to tune them out and stared out of the window. It was two years ago that his friend and lover had been killed by highwaymen on the way of meeting his fiancée.<p>

Zoro had never been able to forgive himself for not coming along. He could have saved Sanji, but he refused to go with him because he was angry. He had felt so betrayed when Sanji had accepted the duchess' hand in marriage that he had let his best friend be murdered.

It hadn't been long before his parents had coaxed Zoro into marrying some countess. He just hadn't cared anymore. Without Sanji, it didn't matter.

They were currently driving through the same area as where Sanji had been murdered. According to the coachman who had been driving Sanji and who had managed to escape, they were forced to stop when a woman was lying on the road. Of course the idiot had climbed out of the carriage, because Sanji had never been able to resist a woman. She turned out to be armed. It was when Sanji and the coachman had been at gunpoint that the rest of the robbers showed up, seven in total, including the first woman. Sanji had defended himself as well as he could and he had given the coachman the chance to escape. While running away, the coachman had heard a shot and seen Sanji fall down.

When Zoro had heard the news for the first time, he had wanted to strangle the coachman for leaving his master alone, but Sanji had been the kind of guy to protect the weak. Sanji would have given his life in vain if Zoro killed the coachman.

The carriage came to an abrupt halt and the chatter of the women died down. "What's going on?" Zoro called to the coachman as he leaned out of the window. Then he saw he reason.

On the side of the road, two people were standing, a man and a woman, only clad in their underwear and looking distressed. The woman had long red hair and the man's hair was curly and dark. The red-haired woman made Zoro suspicious, as Sanji's coachman had described the treacherous woman as having red hair, but on the other hand, seeing the way she was dressed, he doubted this woman could have any weapon on her.

He told his wife and her friends to stay put and after he had grabbed his sword, he climbed cautiously out of the carriage. "Who are you?" he asked the man and the woman.

"Thank heavens you passed by, good sir!" the man started. "We were raided by robbers and they stole our clothes! We have been waiting in the cold for hours!"

Suspiciously, Zoro took a step closer to the two and observed the man with the unusually long nose carefully. He seemed honest enough…

"Drop your sword," a voice suddenly sounded behind him and something that could only be a pistol was pocking in his back.

Slowly, Zoro raised his hands and dropped the sword. From the corner of his eye, he saw his coachman was held at gunpoint as well. His wife seemed to realise the situation, as suddenly loud shrieks came from the carriage.

The man behind Zoro turned his attention towards the ladies. "Don't worry, my dears. We won't hurt you~"

That voice… His eyes widened, Zoro whipped around, his mouth agape. "That's impossible… You're supposed to be dead!"

The corner of the mouth of the highwayman curled up. "Took you long enough to find me."

Sanji had matured in the past two years, his features more defined and his goatee finally grown out, but he was unmistakably the same man Zoro had known and loved, even if he was wearing a mask.

Without a word, Sanji walked over to his partner who held the coachman at gunpoint, a large man with blue hair, and whispered something in his ear.

"No problem, bro," the man said and forced the coachman to sit back on the coach-box. When he had done so, Sanji and the other man simultaneously slapped both horses on their behind. Neighing, they ran off.

Zoro watched the carriage, with his wife in it, disappear on the horizon. Then, he turned to Sanji. "Care to explain yourself?"

Sanji sighed and took off his mask. Zoro's eyes wandered over his face and his body and bit the inside of his lip. Sanji looked great, but he had made Zoro think he was dead for two years! Zoro had even married a woman!

"When I was raided two years back, I realised I finally had a way out," Sanji started. "Unlike you might have thought, I didn't want to marry that woman, I only wanted – want – you. I asked if Nami-swan and the others would take me in and they agreed. Getting in touch with you, however, was impossible without giving away I was still alive. But when I heard you would be travelling through these woods, I knew I had my chance." He stared at the ground and used the barrel of his pistol to scratch the back of his neck. "The only question is now, will you be 'killed' by robbers, or will you escape and return to your lovely wife?"

Zoro thought for a moment and took another look at Sanji. His not so dead lover looked worried. Zoro smirked. "What the hell. I've never been killed before."


	16. Chapter 16

**IzoSmoker, requested by Anon. One week to live!AU**

**(Based on the story of Boudicca, a Celtic queen, who, after her land was confiscated by the Romans, fought back and marched up to Rome in 60 or 61 AD)**

Even as a mere guard in a prison, Smoker hadn't missed the news that buzzed around in Rome. A Celtic queen by the name of Whitey had refused to let her land be taken and had risen up against the Romans. She had had considerable success, smashing down the Roman army and marching up to Rome. Eventually, her army was trapped in a forest, but refusing to be captured to the Romans, Queen Whitey had drunk a poison. The other Celts had been slaughtered or captured by the Romans. One of them, the leader of a neighbouring tribe of Whitey, who had joined her in her riot against the oppressors, was currently sitting in the cell Smoker was guarding.

Smoker had never been outside of Rome, so this was the first time he had seen a Celt. And to be honest, this man looked nothing like the barbarians his fellow Romans described them to be. Sure, his face had been painted and he was covered in blood and mud, but a battle does that to someone, even Romans. The Celt, Izo was his name, Smoker had heard, had been a chieftain and Smoker had to admit, he did look the part. This Izo had an air about him of a leader, and his hair and moustache had been well maintained and braided. It was a fashion Smoker wasn't accustomed to, but he thought it suited the Celt fairly well.

It was a shame he would be executed in a week time.

"How many days do I have left, warden?"

Smoker looked up in surprise. He was alone here, aside from the prisoner, and, judging by the heavy accent, it was a foreigner who spoke. The Celt had been a silent one up till now. Apparently, he had finally decided to speak.

Smoker turned towards the prison door and looked through the bars in the small window. "You speak Latin?"

Despite the darkness, he could see a small smile on the Celt's pale face. "I'm not as uncultured as you think I am."

"I have to admit, you're nothing like I expected," Smoker said. "But your execution is set in seven days."

"Seven days, huh?" Izo leaned his head against the thick wall. "Perhaps I should have followed my Queen and poisoned myself."

Smoker wasn't sure what to say. He had heard rumours that the Romans had asked for the war after they ignored Whitey's husband's will to leave his kingdom to his daughters and took over the land. Smoker was actually impressed by the strength the Celts had shown and how far they had come. "You have fought well," he eventually said.

Izo turned his head and smiled weakly. "Are you sure you're a Roman?"

Smoker shrugged. "I'm just a prison guard." He had fought in the army and was a firm believer in the Roman law, but the way they had treated the Celts wasn't right. It wasn't justice.

They spent the rest of Smoker's shift talking. Izo told the guard more about Britain and it didn't sound as awful as the other Roman soldiers had made it sound. Of course, they were used to warm Italy. Izo tried to teach Smoker some Celtic words as well, even though his pronunciation had to be horrible.

Smoker had never thought he would sympathise with a prisoner.

* * *

><p>When he returned to be on guard the next morning, the other guard who left said to him: "That Celt shouldn't bother you today." With a smirk, he left.<p>

A feeling of dread pooled in Smoker's gut and he hastened to the cell. "Izo! Are you alright?"

He could see the Celt lying with his back turned to the door. Panicking, he opened the door and kneeled next to the prisoner. Izo's face was covered in blood, more than it had been before. Pale, Smoker shook him gently at his shoulder.

Finally, Izo cracked his eyes open and smiled when he recognised Smoker. "You're back."

"What the hell happened to you?!"

Izo shrugged and immediately winced in pain. "Nothing I didn't expect. Remember I'm the cause of many Roman deaths. I'm just surprised they didn't kill me."

"If they had, I would kill them," Smoker grouched.

The faintest of smiles appeared on Izo's face.

A little embarrassed about his words, Smoker left Izo to get some water to wash himself. Izo was sitting up when he returned and took the bowl of water and cloth gratefully before he started to wash the blood, mud and paint off his face. "Why are you kind to me?" he asked when Smoker hesitated at the door. "I am your enemy."

"I believe in justice," the guard grouched. "And beating up an unarmed prisoner, that isn't justice."

The smile that the Celt gave him did strange things to his heartbeat.

* * *

><p>Over the next couple of days, Smoker took over all shifts from other guards so he could stay near Izo. He wouldn't allow the incident from the first night to repeat itself.<p>

Izo had his lips curled in a smile when Smoker had sent away the first guard to take over his shift and Smoker found himself flushed for some reason. While it was just the two of them now – unless a servant brought them food – they talked less than on the first night. Smoker felt like his loyalty had been called into question. The Romans had been in the wrong when taking over Queen Whitey's land, that much was certain. But then she attacked, which of course was her full right, but many Romans had died in battle. Izo had killed many of them as well. So what was justice in this case? Not beating up a prisoner of course, but did the Celt deserve to die?

On the night before the execution, the guard reached a decision. Already too many lives had been sacrificed in the battle. Izo had suffered enough.

The key squeaked in the lock when he turned it, waking the Celt. "Is it time to die already?" Izo asked sleepily.

"No, and it will not be for a long time," Smoker said. "Go, you're free."

Elegantly, as only Izo could as a prisoner in a faraway land, the Celt rose and looked at the guard curiously. "Why?"

"Enough people have been killed already. Just go before I change my mind." Smoker deliberately looked away. He wasn't sure if he could watch the Celt leave.

"What about you?"

"Me?" Confused, Smoker looked at Izo.

"Won't they execute you in my stead if they found out I escaped?" Izo's face appeared neutral, but a glimmer of worry was visible in his eyes.

"I'll be fine." It was a lie and they both knew it. As soon as the guards would come to pick Izo up and found the cell empty, Smoker would be the one facing the lions.

"Come with me."

The guard looked at Izo's outstretched hand with a raised eyebrow. "You want me with you?"

Izo shrugged. "I have nowhere to return to. Everyone I loved is dead and the land I called my home is now Roman. I can't live in the Empire as an escaped prisoner. And neither can you if you really let me go. They'll see you as something worse than an enemy, you'll be a traitor."

Smoker only hesitated for a second before grabbing Izo's hand.


	17. Chapter 17

**ZeffKureha, requested by Ventusio. Forbidden!AU**

**(Based on the work of Florence Nightingale during the Crimean War (1853-56))**

Kureha placed her hands on her hips as she looked around the hospital with patients. When she had arrived here, things had been a mess and many of the wounded died. Medicine had been in short supply and hygiene had left a lot to be desired. The medical staff had been overworked and neglected to treat the patients sufficiently. Kureha had read about the poor conditions in the newspaper and left for the Crimean war almost immediately. Death was part of the job, but amount of people who died from treatable wounds was unacceptable. Even if she didn't understand why those fools started a war in the first place. Stupid boys.

Kureha had kicked out the worn out medical staff to eat and sleep, and went to work with her own staff. She had sent a plea to the newspaper to ask for more medicine and the government had responded. Thanks to Kureha's care, the deaths went down to ten percent of what it had been. She smacked anyone on the head until they listened to her and gave lectures about basic hygiene. Honestly, it was unacceptable to have so many wounded soldiers die from diseases like typhus and cholera when they could have survived their wounds.

While she checked in her patients holding a lamp, the doors opened and another soldier was brought in, his leg heavily wounded. Kureha raised an eyebrow as the medical staff members placed him from the stretcher on a table. Her arms crossed her chest, Kureha observed the wounds and made a diagnose.

The soldier appeared to be in a lot of pain, sweat on his brow and his eyes screwed shut. Kureha sighed and rolled up her sleeves. Time to get to work. She barked at the nun closest by to get her supplies and clean water and cloths. When the things she had asked for were brought, she started to wash away the blood.

While she cleaned the wounds, she studied the soldier's face. Somehow, he didn't strike her as a soldier. His braided blond moustache seemed well maintained and his face was hardened by the wind. He appeared to be a sailor rather than a soldier. It wasn't a strange thing to see, there was a lack of soldiers so other boys were recruited. But there was something about this man…

His hands were strong and had callous on them, but not as much as she expected from a sailor. There were many small scars from cuts as well.

As soon as the blood had been washed away, it was clear to Kureha that she wouldn't be able to save the soldier's leg, not for the lack of skill of course, but because of the lack of supplies. She didn't have the tools in this hospital.

The soldier furrowed his brow and slowly opened his eyes. It took a moment for his eyes to focus, but then they rested on Kureha. "Just cut the damn thing off," he whispered hoarsely.

Despite his wounds, she smacked him on the head. "Which one of us is the doctor?" she snapped, but then her face got serious. "But you get what you wish for. I don't have the supplies to save your leg, but at least you'll keep your life." She turned around and took a swig from the bottle of rum that stood ready, before putting the opening in the soldier's mouth. "Drink up, you'll need it." Really, if these silly boys hadn't start this war, she could have asked the Russian doctor Hiluluk about his new method of anaesthetics. But now, talking to the 'enemy' would be considered treason.

Kureha placed a piece of thick leather between the soldier's jaws and grabbed her saw. Starting the procedure, it didn't take long for the soldier to pass out from pain.

Once she had cut off the leg below the knee and scorched the wound shut, she took a look at the name embroidered on the soldier's uniform. When she took the fabric between her fingers to see the name better – Zeff Redleg, the man was called – a photo of a young blond boy fell out. Kureha picked it up and looked at the boy, who was scowling at the camera, probably his son. She shook her head. "Fools," she muttered.

* * *

><p>Zeff's leg healed prosperously and a carpenter had made him a wooden leg to help him walk. Kureha had to admit, the soldier's attitude was admirable. As soon as she gave him green light, he tried walking with his new leg and he was surprisingly successful. It was like he had always had a peg leg. Yet she noticed that he only walked around when he thought he was alone.<p>

Watching him practice his walking from the doorway, Kureha noticed the photo he was holding in his hand, staring at it sadly.

"If you're walking around like that, they'll want you back in the army as soon as I clear you," Kureha said, leaning against the doorframe.

Obviously, Zeff hadn't heard her coming, because the photo slipped from his fingers onto the floor. Kureha raised an eyebrow and picked up the photo before the wounded soldier could. "Your boy?"

Zeff snatched back the photo and huffed. "Just a little eggplant." Then his face softened. "A little eggplant with no one to feed him."

"I take it you took that task upon yourself until this silly war?" Kureha inquired.

Zeff snorted. "I'm a chef. My job is to keep people alive, not kill them. But if this boy dies because I had to fight for something I don't care about, heads will roll."

"The only reason I'm here is because if I'm not, a lot more people would die," Kureha said, crossing her arms before her chest. "Not because I believe in the cause."

Zeff sighed and looked at the photo again. "Would you tell anyone if I snuck out at night to go home?"

Kureha raised her eyebrow. "You're willing to become a deserter for this kid? It's forbidden to leave the army without permission and they wouldn't want to lose a soldier who can still fight."

Zeff looked away and didn't respond. He seemed to regret his words, of course, he didn't know if he could trust her not to tell on him.

Kureha snorted. "Which why they won't miss you. Honestly, most people learn to walk with a peg leg, but you can't to save your life."

Zeff stared at her, his eyes wide. "You just said–"

"I said that you're a useless soldier and you should go home," Kureha retorted. "You'll only end back here, or worse, cause others to come here. You're a liability and I don't have time to take care of sure cannon fodder." She threw a crutch at him.

Catching it just in time, Zeff leaned heavily on the crutch and watched silently how Kureha bound his leg again with dirty bandages, which made his wound look terrible. "Thank you," he said softly once she was finished.

She snorted and turned towards the window. "Just get out of my hospital, you're only taking up space."

Zeff nodded and limped out of the room, the photo of the boy safely in his pocket.

Without turning around, Kureha said softly: "Say hi to the boy from me."


End file.
